OH MY GOD I NEED OC'S!
by The Stupendous Jimbo
Summary: Dedicated to those who writes stories dedicated to other people's OC's...Alright, I'm gonna be straight up, this is a very, very screwed up story...Just don't read it...For the love of God don't read it...


Author: This story is dedicated to the stories where people submit their OC's for authors to mess with them. I hope you enjoy, and as always, I hope I don't offend anybody!

**WARNING: **The jokes in this story are very, very screwed up. Read at your own risk. You have been warned.

Name: Disclaimer.

Gender: Hermaphrodite

Height: 11 characters long.

Description: It's a huge bundle of text, what do you expect?

Weapon of choice: It's mouth.

Personality: Loudmouth. All Disclaimer does is spout about how Nintendo owns the Super Smash Bros. and that's it. To be honest it's a poor excuse of an OC, really.

Miscellaneous Information: This thing is an utter douchebag; it does nothing but plop itself down in the beginning of stories and flaunts its information like a sign of sorts. Seriously, who the hell does it think it is?

Secrets: Well I'd say that Disclaimer's gay but seeing its gender…There's really no preference…

Crush: It has a crush on the introduction of a story.

**FINAL WARNING: **If the disclaimer joke above offended you by the slightest it is recommended that you click the back button now. You have been warned.

**I NEED OC'S!**

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

The two white gloves faced each other in contemplation. "We already have 56 characters, including the sandbag, why do we need more?"

"Because the people demand it, that's why!"

"Demand it? Seriously? Are you telling me that 56 people aren't enough to satisfy them?"

"No, I'm telling you that 56 people aren't enough to satisfy them."

"…I just said that…"

"Bullshit, you asked that!"

"….Dude…Ratings…Seriously, why are you cussing?"

"I'm a mutha (insert bleeping sound here)ing glove, that's why!"

Crazy Hand looked at his companion. "Dude...whose idea was this again?"

"How should I know, all I know is that corporate sent a letter reading 'dear (insert bleeping sound here) offs; (insert bleeping sound here) you!"

"That says nothing…"

"Yes it does, it says everything!"

"Okay, what does it say?"

"One, there's no description, just dialogue; two, we suck; and three, (insert bleeping sound here) you!"

The glove sighed. It was clearly evident that Master Hand hadn't taken his daily medication, and he was about to snap. The glove knew that if his brother doesn't take his pills, total eradication of all foreign anomalies shall ensue, I.E: destroy Smashers. It was to be duly noted that every time Master Hand snapped, people died. Just ask Roy, Young Link, Doctor Mario, and Mewtwo.

"What about Pichu?"

FUCK PICHU!

"Whoa dude, you gotta be careful with that word, if you use it too much you'll have to upgrade the rating system," Crazy hand proclaimed in an attempt to bring peace…Total, unjustified peace… "Besides, what happened to the bleeping sounds you always use?"

INSERT MUTHA FUCKING BLEEPING SOUND HERE AND FUCK PICHU!

Crazy Hand sighed as he marked down yet, _another _disaster story in progress. Master Hand slapped his brother. "Stop digressing!" The glove let out a drawn out sigh. "Alright fine, what do you propose we do?"

"It's simple, let the people decide."

"Umm…Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I'm positive, it's an excellent idea!"

Crazy Hand knew at this point to just give up. There was no description evident, and everything was merely dialogue, dialogue, coarse jesting, and more dialogue. This was truly the beginning of a masterpiece.

"So what do we do, send out the message that we're demanding OC's to be inserted in the story?"

"Not a story, but a legacy!"

"Oh boy…Why do I smell the stench of infraction of the rules?"

"Because it's what we do."

"Okay, let's try to back things up. Where are we?"

"We're in the audition room."

"Oookay, where's that?"

"It's in the Smash Mansion, duh…"

"So what does it look like?"

"Jeez haven't you been paying attention? It's a stage that slightly resembles American Idol."

"But nobody watches that show…"

Master Hand swore that day if he ever grew the mental capacity to wield a gun that Crazy Hand would be his new carpet…

"Jeez, Crazy, why are you so prude? Are you a Virgin?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?"

"You're acting prude because the story's not being done right. Since you're prude you MUST be a virgin."

"Oh no, why do I have a feeling I know where this is leading to?"

"Oh now you're speaking your mind so you MUST be a bitch."

"Did I say that?"

"Now you're suspicious so you MUST be naturally paranoid."

"Of course I am."

"Now you're agreeing with everything I says so you MUST be a conformist."

Crazy Hand would generally slap his forehead if he had one.

"Also you're white so you MUST be a racist."

"Dude I swear I'm gonna shoot you…"

"You have a gun so you MUST be black…"

"Do I look black?"

"And since you're black, you MUST have left your child!"

"Oh dear God help me…"

"Ha! You're religious so you MUST shove your beliefs down people's throats."

"I'm not religious, now…"

"Ha, you're agnostic so you MUST be a douchebag!"

"A douchebag?"

"And since you're a douchebag you MUST have a "live strong" bracelet, and if you have a "live strong" bracelet, you MUST support Breast Cancer Research, and if you support Breast Cancer Research you MUST be a woman-

"Shut up!"

"Ha, I knew it, now shut up and blow me, you slut!"

He knew at that point he had lost a good majority of readers. "Alright, alright, enough of this crap; what are we going to do?"

"Oh it's simple, we allow the readers to submit their OC's and then the author creates a magnificent story out of it," Master Hand proclaimed with enthusiasm. He then snapped his fingers, suddenly a small, grey laptop popped out of thin air and landed in his palm. "Now open it up and log on!"

"Are you su-

"I'm positive! Now long onto the computer so we can review our latest submissions!"

With a sigh, Crazy Hand flipped the computer open and began typing a few things out. Next thing he knew he was reviewing the computer screen full of submitted OC's. "Umm Brother…I don't think this is a good idea…"

"Dude everybody knows 56 characters aren't enough, that's why we're taking new contestants."

"No I don't believe you understand-

Shut up and let's begin already!"

He sighed. "Fine…"

"Great, then shall I summon the Smashers?"

"Go ahead."

With that, he thrashed violently, incessantly snapping his fingers in rapid motion as the dark aura surrounded the room. It transcended from a dark shadow to a murky, crimson red as a violent wind tore swiftly through the area, shredding the very hinges of what was conceived as certain institution. The anthropomorphic wind seized any hope of tranquility as the convulsed glove flung itself in every direction possible, perniciously slashing at the very fragments of space, piercing the very physics of law. Suddenly spirits from beneath the ground danced around the glove as its fingertips began radiating a magnificent, gold light. Hieroglyphics etched itself on the mighty glove as he began chanting in a half human, half demonic growl. "E VELIK MOĆAN RATNIK NAD TRAK JA SAZIVATI TE!"

There was a sudden flash of light as the room was instantly filled with the cries of the confused fighters. The red aura drifted aside as the room reverted back to its original form. Crazy Hand slowly turned to his brother, who would be grinning deviously if he had a mouth. "What...The Hell…Was…THAT!"

"That, my friend, was proof that I'm a badass!" He snickered. "And here you were chastising this story for not being descriptive enough. Sucker…"

"…And how was it that I was named Crazy Hand and you were Master Hand?"

"Did you not just see what I did?"

"Riiight…I'm not even going to question what you just did…"

"What does it look like, I summoned everybody." He pointed to the crowd, whom were still recovering from the jetlag of their most recent voyage.

Master Hand looked out to the Smashers. "Attention everybody!"

Some of them looked up at him while the others stared around the room, taking in the ambiance. After a brief pause the muttering subsided, and the glove had everybody's attention. "We are pleased to announce that on this grand day, we shall be welcoming newcomers!"

The crowd began muttering amongst themselves, and somebody let out a subtle "again?"

Master Hand flinched, "Who said that?"

The audience went silence once more.

"Who the (insert bleeping sound here) said that?"

A small cricket began chirping until it was ceased by a bullet from Master Hand's index finger. "Which one of you damned mutha (insert bleeping sound here)ers just said that shit?"

"Brother, calm down!"

"Don't tell me to calm down, we don't have time to calm down, so just calm down so I can find out which one of those bastards is not gonna star in the next game!"

Crazy Hand sighed. "Look, just let it go, and move on."

"But I-

Shush!"

The floating glove sighed. "Fine…Anyways, We're opening our doors to the wondrous creations given to us by the very readers whom gave us life! Now before you guys continue your useless muttering like everybody else does when it comes to this news, I simply ask we skip that part and move on to the main element, any questions?"

One of the Smashers raised his hand. "Yes, Red?"

"Are we gonna get any girls?" He asked.

Master Hand turned to his brother, who lifted his palm in a shrugging manner before turning back to Red. "What kind of question is that?"

"Well this group mostly consists of guys, and with the exception of the three girls we already have, it's kind of a sausage fest."

He smashed the wooden floor loudly before snapping at the Pokemon Trainer. "Alright lemme clear things up with you: This is the Super Smash Bros., not the Super Smash Hoes! If you want to go off and play with a bunch of girls then go play some faggot ass Pokemon game like all the other fags out there, got it?"

The Pokemon Trainer raised a shocked eyebrow at the glove. "Oookay…Wow…That was a little uncalled for…"

"Anyone else got any stupid questions?"

Somebody in the background raised their hand. "Diddy Kong has a Dixie Kong outfit, does that count?"

And that is the reason why Waluigi didn't star in the Brawl edition of the tournament. After questioning was over, Crazy Hand uploaded the list of submitted OC's and began reading them off. "Alright our first guest for try-outs was submitted by an author by the name of The Dark Radiance…"

"Alright, go on."

"According to the roster it is a male by the name of Seifu No Osaki."

"Weird name…Alright, let him in."

A regular sized man wearing a shoulder pad made of chains, and a glove made of belts walked in. His chain mask covered only half of his pale face; he wore a dark cloak with a hood that only covered half of the top of his head. He had a strong walk about him as he made his way to the center of the stage. What caught everybody's attention the most about him was the fact he walked in sideways because of the giant angel wing resting at his side. He did a bunny hop every other step, which threw everybody off guard. As he took a step, small pieces of feather would fall off of his wing, creating a small trail.

Master Hand stared blankly at the man who stood in front of them. He leaned over to Crazy Hand and whispered "Again, who submitted this guy?"

"Right here it says 'The Dark Radiance'…"

"Wow, okay…" He looked up at chain dressed man. "Hello, welcome to the auditions, allow us to review your background and we'll interview you right away."

Crazy Hand began reading off the profile. "Name, Seifu No Osaki, height, Five nine, occupation…Ninja…" He sighed to himself. "Personality…Seifu's personality is unknown because he mostly keeps to himself…Of course he does…Weapon of choice, anything sharp, and back ground information, Seifu's family and clan were brutally murdered before his very eyes. Barely escaping with his life, he was at the point of starvation when he ran into the greatest ninja in the world, who took him in and taught him the deadliest forms of Martial Arts. Now mastering the art of the Ninja, he sets out on a quest to search for the murderer who murdered his whole clan…"

Master Hand flinched. "Wait a second, what the hell kind of profile is that?"

"Sounds like the kind of profile created by a thirteen year old who knows nothing of the art of story telling…Either that or Japanese fan-girls…"

"Gah!" Master Hand drew back a few inches. "Great, the first submission is a mary-sue, lovely! Anything else we need to know about this guy?"

Crazy Hand continued reading the rest of the profile. "According to this, while he attracts all the ladies, his sexual preference is that of…Guys…"

"Whoawhoawhoawhoawhoa, what?" He turned to the ninja. "So you're a gay ninja?"

"Is that a problem?" He spoke with a depressed voice. Marth raised his hand and screamed "I don't see a problem with that,"

"Shut up! Anyways, who the hell submits a gay ninja?"

"Come on Master Hand, it's not that bad," his brother turned to Seifu. "So Seifu…Tell me about yourself."

"Well… My life is nothing but a conceived nature delegated to the constrictions of endless threads…Threads of fate which filatures the animosity of the incursions on our institutions of incertitude like an anthropomorphic wind strips naked the degraded wasteland…."

The two gloves looked at each other. Master Hand shook himself and turned to Seifu. "A gay…Emo…Ninja…Alright, I'm just gonna tell ya straight up like a straight blade, we don't have time for some stupid faggot ass emo bitch ninja! First of all, ninja's are overrated, they're stupid and nobody likes them. Shut the (insert bleeping sound here) up, Shiek, anyways we don't have time for your fictional unrealistic bullshit! Now I'd like to refer you to the talking fox with the laser gun! He'll (insert bleeping sound here) you up, nigga!"

Suddenly he was hauled off to the back of the room where the only sounds heard were the words "LANDMASTER!" and a horrendous scream of anguish that soon followed.

"Anyways, send in our next guest."

"Right," Crazy Hand looked at the screen. "Our next contestant is a military man by the name of…Oh no…"

"What?"

"His name is…Sergeant…Slap-a-Hoe…"

"What?

"Sergeant Slap-a-Hoe…"

"Oh you've gotta be kidding! Who the hell submitted that guy?"

"An author by the name of 'Citizen of the Pure Tint'."

The man entered the room as Crazy Hand began reading the profile. "Alright, name is Sergeant Slap-a-Hoe, height, Six two, description, a burly man in a military outfit with a drill sergeant's hat, sexual preference, straight, personality...Umm it says he has a crush on America…And his civic service is the cleansing of his beloved country…God dammit, he's a racist…"

"Of course he is…" Master Hand looked at the Sergeant. "Alright Mr. Slap-a-Hoe, how are you, today?"

"I'm mighty fine on this glorious white-filled day thanks to the loving Father and our lord Jesus Christ."

"Oh no…" Master Hand looked at his brother. "Is there anything else on his profile we need to know about?"

"Well…weapon of choice,…Umm…Anything used to slap a hoe…Real funny, asshole…taunt, he throws his hat on the ground and allows it to bounce back on his head, occupation, sergeant, status, single, size of pe…Oh dear God!"

"What?"

"Size of…Penis…

"What?"

"Yeah…"

"This guy actually wrote out the (insert bleeping sound here)ing size of this guy's dick?"

"Not entirely…"

Sergeant Slap-a-Hoe grinned. "That's right, a good supporter of America is not afraid of the size of his manhood!"

Master Hand flinched once again. "And do I even want to know what the author put?"

"According to this, size of penis, very (insert bleeping sound here)ing huge…I mean, monster sized…"

"Who the hell writes that out?"

"A patriotic supporter of this country?"

"I don't see anything wrong with it," Marth called out.

The sergeant stood up straight, "so do I make the cut?"

"Don't say that," somebody in the background screamed.

"Huh?"

"Don't say the word 'cut', some people are sensitive!"

"Shut the hell up, emo bitch!"

"Riiight…" The glove pointed to the audience, "Just go over there for a moment, keep him away from Mr. Game and Watch, and we'll think about it…Next OC!"

"Alright this next guy was submitted by an author by the name of "Michael Jackson Fan-

NEXT!"

"What?"

"Don't! Just don't!

"Okay, okay, fine, next on the list was submitted by a guy named "The Stupendous…Oh no…"

"What?"

"The Stupendous Jimbo…"

"Wait…Are you telling me that the guy who's writing a story about people who requests authors to submit OC's for their story actually submitted an OC for this story?"

"Evidentially so…"

"Wow…So who is it?"

"According to the profile his name is Wan-

DON'T!"

"Umm…"

"DON'T EVEN FINISH THAT SENTENCE!"

"What's wrong?"

"SECURITY, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD BLOCK THE DOOR!"

"What's wrong?"

"WHAT EVER YOU DO IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS HOLY DO NOT OPEN THAT DOOR!"

Suddenly the door burst open as a man proudly walked in. "Yo, what up, niggas! Wang-a-Tang is in da HOUSE!"

Master Hand shivered in fear. "Oh no…"

Crazy Hand shifted his attention to the profile. "Alright…Name, Wang-a-Tang…Gender, questionable but leaning towards male…Five nine, description, slightly balding, wears makeup, and he has a what for a nose?"

Master Hand gawked at the screen. "He has a…Very…Explicit piece of material for a nose…"

"Yo dat bes mah WANG!" Wang-a-Tang cried out with enthusiastic joy.

"According to this he played the bus driver under the same name in his other story titled 'O Sanity, Where Art Thou'…Shameless self promotion anyone?"

"Yeah really…"

Wang-a-Tang suddenly lifted his head back. "Hold on guys, I gotta sneeze-

**NOOOO!**"

He lifted his head back as everybody ducked for cover. Suddenly he lowered it and sighed. "Don't worry, false alarm…"

"Right...Crazy Hand, I know it's your job, but could you just please skip the profile for now? I really don't want to know what else this guy put down…"

"Yeah…It's actually quite disturbing…"

"Right, go ahead and take a seat somewhere…Next!"

"Alright, this next OC was submitted by the author, "Rosa Chambers"…Alright…Name, Umm…"

"Go on…"

"Name… Roxanne Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca Montgomery the Third…"

"Roxanne What?"

"Please don't make me repeat that…"

"Right, just send her in."

To the Smasher's pleasant surprise, the woman whom walked in was the very definition of drop-dead gorgeous. She had beautiful waves of fire red hair which drooped down to her back, her face was completely smooth, her blue eyes complimented her beautiful smile, and she walked with sublime grace towards the center of the stage. "Hello," she said with a calm voice which gave off the chime of an angel, "nice to meet you!" She smiled innocently as the Smasher's dropped their jaws in mesmerized awe. Marth and the girls in the room let out a sharp "hmph!" as the others got lost in her infinite beauty.

"Well," said Master Hand, "According to the guys you're already in. So Crazy Hand, mind sharing some information about her?"

"Certainly, name, Roxanne, height, five six, not bad at all, personality, sanguine… Nice to see an optimist, and she enjoys going out with boys, so that's a plus for everybody, and according to this her age is thirte-

**CRAAAAAAP!**"

The two gloves flinched at the sudden outburst everybody made. Apparently her age was not met with the enthusiasm the author expected. "Wow…Umm I don't know what to say…"

Roxanne looked at the gloves. "Should I flash them?"

"**DEAR GOD NO!**"

The two gloves flinched once again. "Oookay…Well just go ahead and have a seat…"

She nodded and walked over to go sit next to Wang-a-Tang, whom looked down at her. "Sup, bitch?"

"Umm…Excuse me?"

"What, you deaf?"

"Did you just call me a bitch?"

"Hells yeah, nigga! Don't like it, suck it!"

"Hey! Aren't I a little young for you?"

He scoffed. "Tsh, if ya old enough to pee; ya old enough for me, now suck it!"

She swiftly jumped up and ran to the other side of the room. Master Hand, upon observing this, muttered to himself, "What the hell is wrong with these people?"

"Sir, we have one more submission."

"Alright, shoot."

"The OC goes by the name of…Bo Dynamite…"

"No…Just, no…"

Suddenly the door opened as a heavy set man made his way in. "Heeeeyyyy, Bo Dynamite IN DA HOUSE!"

Master Hand pointed to the exit. "Get the (insert bleeping sound here) out of here!"

"What?"

"Out!"

"What the hell, you didn't even give me a chance!"

"Don't care, out!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on! You're telling me you're allowing a gay, emo ninja, a racist patriot, and…What ever that thing is…In this tournament, and you won't even give me a chance? Come on, you already have a testicle with a mask and a sword and bat wings beating the hell out of everyone! For God's sakes you allow fairy queens with swords fight here-

"I'm not a queen," Marth screamed. Bo Dynamite flinched. "Whoa…Umm wow…Seriously, why won't you give me a chance?"

"Your name is (insert bleeping sound here)ing Bo Dynamite! No!"

The character that didn't even have the opportunity of being described slouched his head in shame as he turned around to make his way out of the room. He suddenly looked over to the creepy man in the corner, who suddenly lifted his head. "What the…"

Suddenly there was an extremely loud sneeze, followed by multiple cries of mortified horror. "OH DEAR GOD, WANG-A-TANG, WHAT THE (insert bleeping sound here)?"

The two gloves were finally rendered speechless as the whole room erupted into a chaotic war zone. "Well brother," Crazy Hand started, "I believe now would be a good time to just shut everything down…"

"Agreed…"

"We have more submissions, but perhaps we can save it after we clean up that…ugh, mess…"

Suddenly somebody cried "OH NO MY CHAINED MASK! I WORKED SOOO HARD ON THAT MASK!" and "HEY YOU, I HEARD YOU WAS A GAY, EMO NINJA, DO YOU HATE AMERICA?"

"Umm Master Hand…Whose idea was this, again?"

"I don't even know anymore…"

The two watched with horrified expression as the Smashers broke out into a brutal riot. "Master Hand, how did I know this was gonna happen?"

"Look who wrote the damn story…"

"Of course…Right…"

The two gloves decided their best course of action was to sit back and watch. One of them pulled up the notepad on the laptop, preparing to write down those who will not be attending the next tournament.

Author: Well…I have no words…Generally I would sit here and spout about how I wrote another screwed up story, but I'm pretty sure you guys figured that out. Again I hope I didn't offend anybody, and I apologize to those I did, and I wish you all a good day/night. Until next time!

…Jesus, what have I created…


End file.
